


Inferno

by Steals_Thyme (Liodain)



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Blow Jobs, Community: seasonofkink, Crimebusters Era, Intoxication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4154031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liodain/pseuds/Steals_Thyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moloch's back in town. The Nite Owl—Rorschach team investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Season of Kink](http://seasonofkink.dreamwidth.org/) 2015, Intoxication/Aphrodisiacs/Smoking square.
> 
> It's 1966, so Rorschach's still got a grip on his pronouns and articles.

"Well, that was a disaster," Dan says, easing up on the thrust levers as the Archimedes banks gently through the clouds. "I don't know why the Comedian even turned up."

"To laugh at us, obviously." Rorschach is hunched in the co-pilot seat, sullen and more ruffled than he thinks he's letting on. His lapel is folded up, bent. "I told you it would be a waste of time. The Crimebusters are a bust."

"Then, I guess you were right." In truth, Dan's a little disappointed. Being part of a larger team had appealed to him, like being a modern-day Knight of the Round. He likes his partner well enough, but he's kind of hard work sometimes and he could do with lightening the load now and then. Rorschach is obviously bent out of shape over the whole thing either way, and he's likely to be an irascible prick until he can blow off some steam. Dan doesn't feel like listening to him venting about whatever the favorite conspiracy theory is tonight (or any night), so he leans over Archie's dash and plots a course downtown.

"Where are we going?" Rorschach looks over at Dan when the airship starts banking again. His mask swirls and shifts rapidly, irritation plain in the jagged shapes.

"It's still early, and I think you could do with a little fun," Dan tells him. "I know a club."

"A _club_." Rorschach's tone is dripping with such disgust that Dan can almost taste it. "Really, Nite Owl?"

"Didn't you hear?" Dan flashes him a grin. "Moloch's back in town."

*

The club's called _Inferno_ , and as soon as they work their way in through a side door, Dan realizes he has made a terrible, terrible mistake.

The whole place is lit up in a pulsing, strobing red and the music ebbs and flows, low and bassy like a heartbeat. The clientele aren't dancing so much as writhing together on the floor, beautiful sweat-sheened bodies undulating in time to the music. There are sheer drapes everywhere, curtaining off sections of the establishment in dreamy gossamer skeins.

Nobody pays him or Rorschach any heed, despite how starkly their street-grimy uniforms stand out against the voluptuous decor. 

The air is thick and cloying with some kind of sweet-smelling smoke. Dan sips on it and feels it coat his tongue. It's weird, makes him salivate. The club is sweltering hot and he's is feeling lightheaded already; he can feel a flush creeping across his cheeks. There are mirrors on the ceiling. He can see Rorschach reflected back at him. His discomfort seems miles away, up there.

"Nite Owl," he says, rumbling low in Dan's ear, like the thrum of the music. "This place is disgusting."

"Yeah," Dan says, but his mind wanders away from what he was going to say next. A woman drifts past him, bare shoulders and glittering oiled hair, a hint of spicy perfume. Dan turns to follow her before he can think about what he's doing. 

"Nite Owl," Rorschach says again, grabs his wrist and reels him back in. He sounds shakier this time. Dan's vision shifts and doubles, slides off to the side. Rorschach's fingers grip him tight. He has strong hands. Dan's vaguely aware that he's hard, isn't sure when that happened. "Something's wrong. I feel... strange."

"We should," Dan says, then pauses to lick his lips, slowly. His own mouth feels good, all soft and slick. He does it again, then draws his lower lip in and sucks. "We should go."

Rorschach inhales deeply, gives his head a quick, sharp shake. "Yes. Now."

*

The cold night air cuts through the dreamy haze of the club and brings Dan's lust into sharp focus. Instead of clearing his head, he feels disoriented, like he's too many beers on the wrong side of drunk. Rorschach doesn't seem to be faring much better, if his unsteady jog is anything to go by. 

Dan calls Archie to them as they move, until finally his legs give way and he slumps against a wall. His nipples are tight, driving him crazy where they rub against the fabric of his uniform. His hands shake as he presses over one with the heel of his hand, tries to get a little relief. It doesn't work, only makes his mouth wet and his dick throb.

He slaps himself, a sharp crack open-handed across his face. That doesn't help either, just elicits a low moan from Rorschach, and Dan finds his partner pressed up against him, grinding against his thigh. 

"Been dosed," Rorschach mutters, and leans up to kiss him on the mouth, hard through the mask's latex. Dan can't help the needy little sound he makes, and this is so bad, so bad—because sure, there's something kind of attractive about Rorschach's graceful brutality, the efficiency and dry humor in the way he talks, the sliver of skin Dan sometimes glimpses between the cuff of his jacket and his gloves, but Dan doesn't— isn't— oh. Oh. This is so bad.

They don't know each other, don't know each other's names, not even each other's eye color, or whether they have—

"Do you— do you have anyone you can go to?" Dan asks, breathing against Rorschach's mouth, licking at the dark swarm of inkblots there. "Wife? Girlfriend? ... boyfriend?"

"No." Rorschach grabs at Dan's hips, presses his lean body as close as he can. The buttons on his trench coat dig into Dan's skin. "Nobody. Just you."

Archie's engines whine as he descends, blasts debris around the alleyway. Rorschach hauls Dan off the brickwork and they stumble on board; Dan about makes it to the pilot seat, sits heavily before his knees give out. All of his limbs feel like water and he's got that light, emptied-out feeling as though he's running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. His hands shake as he sets the autopilot for home, then shake some more as he unbuckles his belt, pushes his hand inside his uniform just so he can—

Rorschach staggers down onto him, slides to his knees and buries his face in Dan's crotch.

"God," Dan groans, and pushes the hat off Rorschach's head so he can watch him drag up his mask—there's stubble on his chin, red-blonde around a severe mouth. He pulls Dan's dick out of his pants, and Dan feels himself twitch with his rough handling, holds his breath in anticipation, heartbeat thudding in his throat. This is so bad, and he couldn't care less.

Rorschach takes the head in his mouth and rests it there, and Dan tries to rise up off the seat to get deeper into that warmth. Rorschach presses him firmly down again, strong hands on his hips, fingers digging as he takes him in carelessly, scraping with his teeth. He hollows his cheeks, ink cascading over his face as he rubs his tongue on the underside of Dan's dick, and Dan can't make himself hold out, he was already too far gone and this is just—

"I can't," he gasps, and Rorschach pulls back as Dan's climax belts him like a right hook. Rorschach catches some on his lips, the collar of his trench. His mouth is slack, and he's working at himself, jerking himself off right there, on his knees between Dan's legs, come sliding down his face. 

Dan cups Rorschach's jaw in his gloved hands, rubs his stubbled cheek while he grimaces and gasps, slides a thumb over his lips and into his mouth. Rorschach's breath shudders out around it, then he spasms, bites down hard enough to make Dan wince a little. 

All the tension drops out his body. His head is heavy in Dan's hands. Dan pets his cheek until he comes to himself, since he figures he's probably not going to get the chance again. 

"Well," Dan says, when Rorschach seems more coherent. A different kind of throbbing has settled itself in Dan's temples, heralding a truly egregious hangover.

"Well," Rorschach echoes. One hand still rests on the inside of Dan's thigh. "That was a disaster."

*


End file.
